


Male Reader X Female Paranormal Activity Spirit

by CampGreen



Category: Paranormal Activity (Movies)
Genre: F/M, Horror, Literature, fan fiction
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 22:01:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13797222
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CampGreen/pseuds/CampGreen
Summary: Ah what the hell, to make up for the short Cthulhu story, here's another one. Paranormal Activity is by Paramount Pictures.





	1. Haunted

Ah, a fresh new start. New town, new job, and new house. Er, well, apartment. You can't believe how generous this place's rent is. 600 bucks a month for something so well maintained? What a steal! It is a tight fit though, not that that matters since you're living alone now. You plop a couple of heavy cardboard boxes onto the carpet and begin unpacking. You spend the whole evening piecing together a bedframe in your new room, stocking your fridge up with groceries, and cleaning a fresh load of laundry. The day is finished off just in time when a couple of movers fill the frame with a mattress. Once they depart, you wrap the thing in a set of soft, crisply washed sheets, and after freshening up in the bathroom, you waste no time melting into them.

**BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.**

You stir awake at the call of an alarm clock and shut the obnoxious piece of plastic up with a mash, feeling terrible. You always sleep terribly outside of home. But this is home now. One of the first things your ever-waking mind notices is a heavy dampness weighing down on your pajamas. Geez, they're absolutely soaked with cum. Must've had one hell of a wet dream... It saddens you that you have no memory of it. Oh well! You go about your normal day, well as much as you can. You haven't quite gotten used to everything just yet. After a rough first day at your new job, you're wrecked once you come home. You've only lived in this place for one day, and it already seems like Heaven compared to what's out there. You think you're gonna get attached to this apartment real quick. You wash away all the stress and fatigue you've accumulated over your 12 hour shift with a nice hot shower you enjoy a little too much. 

Afterwards, once all the water sopping off your naked frame is soaked up into the towel, you throw it in a laundry basket and notice a bottle of baby powder in one of the cardboard boxes you still haven't completely unpacked yet, a reminder of your old babysitting job. It also reminds you that you didn't bring any deodorant... After thinking it over with a blush burning your face, you shamelessly freshen up with the bottle. One half of you feels silly for using something for a baby's ass on your entire adult body, but the other loves the divinely-smelling dust as it's rubbed into your skin. Wait, doesn't this cause cancer or something? Whatever. All of a sudden, your phone goes off. You rush over to your nightstand, throwing down the powder next to a box of tissues and the lamp while you clamber your phone into your hands as it cries in vibrations. Someone's calling you from the other side of the friggin' country. You deny the probable telemarketer, then all of a sudden essentially a defibrillator shocks your chest from a startling bump so damn loud you'd believe it if it was a neighbor dropping a box made from solid lead.

Aw, son of a BITCH! 

Your jolt from the jumpscare was so fierce it shook the nightstand and knocked the bottle off, giving your bedroom a new carpet of white powder. Shit...you're already behind on sleep, you'll just have to clean it up tomorrow...a quick midnight jackoff never hurt anybody though. Stepping over the mess in the heart of your bedroom, you pop the button off your pajama pants to let your erection free, before rubbing a quick one out to cement your want for shut-eye. Who needs warm milk or sleep medication when you have after-orgasm fatigue? Upon cleaning up with some handy tissues, you fiddle with your fly for a while, buttoning it back shut, before slipping into sleep.

**BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.**

Uuugh... It feels like you didn't get any sleep at all. Oh, goddammit! Your pajamas are ruined AGAIN! You try scrubbing the splotch of dried cum growing on your sleepwear like mold with a bunch of tissues. Then you realize something. Your fly is open. You don't have a photographic memory, but you are absolutely positive you buttoned back up right before passing out last night. You vividly remember it since it immediately followed the baby powder spill. Are you sleep-jacking or something? Is that even a thing? Whatever. You shoot up off the bed and...

There are three footprints in the puddle of powder, each pointing towards at you.

You never stepped in the powder. 

You gawk at the blatant logical contradiction in a confused fear. You dip your sole in one of the footprints and the sizes don't even add up. These prints are way bigger than yours would ever be. You shake yourself out of your shock, sweep up the mess, and hurriedly get ready for work, lost a bit of time thanks to the incident. You go through another grueling shift but this time it's even worse, thanks to the voice in the back of your head insisting you're getting raped in your sleep or something. It's gotta just be sleepwalking though. Sick of the anxiety after a day's worth of getting bullied by it, you commit to getting to the bottom of this. This time, before snuggling underneath your covers, you set your laptop's webcam up to record every second of your slumber. You nervously drift off to sleep once more. 

**BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.**

You wake up and, sure enough, your pajamas' fly is undone and stained. Ugh. Alright, time to figure this out once and for-

The laptop is shut. 

You scramble it back open and the webcam has only five minutes worth of footage. Just about as long as it took you to fall asleep. What the hell... You're going to have to take some drastic measures.

\---

_"Alrighty, I think we can negotiate this little spy camera down to 200 bucks."_

_"Great."_

_"You scared of burglars or something?"_

_"Something like that."_

_"Ah, I get it, Cali's one wretched hive of scum and villainy, innit?"_

You give him a forced chuckle.

_"You interested in any other security system measures? I could throw in a couple motion sensor alarms for only a few extra-"_

_"No, thank you."_

_"...Well, okie dokie then, all that's left is where you want it installed."_

_"Somewhere I would never guess."_


	2. The Paranormal

Probably the weirdest gig that security system technician ever landed. You're either sleepwalking, or there's a home invader. Either way, the perpetrator is going out of their way to sabotage the investigation, so better safe than sorry and hide it from both. The installer linked the camera up to your laptop so it'll broadcast its feed. Just like any and every other night, you nestle up under your sheets, but this time it takes a while to doze off thanks to your crippling uneasiness, getting worse and worse every second you think about this bizarre, ominous situation. 

**BEEP. BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.**

Without fail, your pajamas are freshly stained. Alright...moment of truth. You open your laptop and are greeted to 7 hours worth of footage. Thank God... For the first ten minutes, nothing. Just you in a dark, green tinted version of your bedroom, stirring around your covers until eventually falling asleep. But then, your pajamas are magically popped open by the zipper's fly. What the fuck?! Your flaccid cock crawls out from the gap like a worm burrowing up from the soil. It flimsily bounces and slowly swells up into an erection. Your past, unconscious self buries his ten fingernails into the mattress, tightening his clenched eyes and shivering with unwanted pleasure as he's given a handjob by something invisible. 

His long-sleeved pajama shirt is showered with batter again and again, forced into a couple hundred cumshots back to back. You watch in terror as he's relentlessly sexually tortured for hours by what absolutely must be a ghost. Your apartment is haunted! No wonder it was so cheap... Oh God, what to do?! You scavenge around your brain for Hollywood tactics that'll maybe keep the demon at bay. Ouija Board - Don't you need someone else for that? Smoke cleansing - That's probably against apartment regulations. Crosses - You already plastered your walls with posters, there's no more room! You think of something a bit more practical, tailored specifically for this succubus of sorts. You won't like it, though... 

You come home with a plastic bag from the store smushed up in your hand, and dump it out onto bed. A freshly bought chastity belt is now laid out among your sheets. Ugh... You take a few minutes in the bathroom awkwardly changing into your new purchase, slipping your bare legs into it until you're dressed in a pair of gimp's underwear. Finally, you lock it shut to forever restrict you of an orgasm or even a boner, drop the key in the toilet, and flush. It rots open a little (okay, big) hole in your soul, having to sacrifice jacking off forever, but whatever gets this ethereal rapist off your dick. Hey, look on the bright side, at least you won't have to dread any more unwanted or uncomfortable public boners! 

Right as the toilet grumbles out that final sputter of its contents getting washed away into the sewer, the key fires right back out the pipe and clatters onto your bedroom carpet, staining it a bit with water. Oh, motherf- Your lamp suddenly switches off. What the hell, did the bulb blow? You try switching it back on and it works. Then it switches off again. The ceiling fan light turns on. Then off. The two lights start flicking on and off again and again, you shut your eyes, visually disturbed by the seizure-inducing lighting, but are then ripped from the blackness when a drawer from your nightstand slams closed. Then it opens, then slams right back shut again, all three of them, then the windows, then the door! Bellowing slams scream at you, all around you in a hellish chorus of clamorous noises and aggressively flickering lights. Your entire goddamn apartment starts freaking the fuck out and you clench your eyes, huddle in a ball, and cup your ears at all the sensory abuse.

 _ **"OKAY, OKAY! I'M SORRY! JUST PLEASE STOP!"**_ you beg whatever vengeful soul is terrorizing you.

Dead silence. The lamp is off. The lights are off. The drawers are closed. The windows are shut. The door is shut. Now it's just you curled up in your dark bedroom. Your heart leaps into your throat, then all around, when something grabs you by both the ankles and tosses you onto your bed, so you land in a birthing position. The key flies precisely into its respective hole on your chasisty belt, like a sniper shot it out of a tranq rifle, and it twists with a click, shedding your genitalia of its prison and leaving it out in the open. Suddenly a hand grows out from the key, then an arm, then another, then a couple more legs. Then finally a head, your terrorizer fully materialized in the mortal plain. A mass of shadows, contours and outline messily highlighted by scratchy splinters, as if God himself traced it with a quick sketch and a dying green pen. 

A cartoonish silhouette torn straight off the page, just abstract and cloudy enough to substitute as "real". Despite being so metaphysical and conceptual, it still manages to hold an extremely shapely figure. Even with being nothing but a personification of shadow itself, she has extremely busty tits pointed with plump nipples, incredibly thick thighs, extraordinarily defined curves, an inhumanly tight asshole, and a heavily sodden pair of cunt lips, as well as a massive mop of "hair" hanging down to her breasts that completely encases every side of her head like a bride's veil, each strand as straight as a rod. Aside from that, though, there's not much to speak of. Being nigh-solid black blends her into the surrounding darkness, giving the faint illusion that she's still invisible anyways. 

Key still grasped in her hand, she flicks it away and starts crawling up onto the bed, using your spread-out legs as a couple of climbing ropes. You try skitter backwards in fear but her touch is so powerful it's paralyzing. With a gentle touch, she has you helplessly pinned to your covers. She still manages to eyefuck your trembling, naked body even without a face, drawing one of her fingers across your shivering torso and up under your jaw to scratch your chin in a twisted pleasantry, scooping up a few bullets of sweat along the way. She seizes both of your ankles again and pins them to each side of your head, mounting you in a squat so your cock is ascended to another dimension, lingering in the tight green hole of her anus. She starts bouncing her hips up and down and your brain gets swept away in the tide-like evil presence of this lustful spirit. The pleasure is drug-like, but the shame is just as potent. 

You can sharply imagine yourself burning in Hell just for being in contact with this thing. A guilty pleasure, each half too potent to be put to words. She lets go of your ankles and instead holds both of your legs like she's clinging onto the rails of a rope bridge, rising to her feet and taking your lower body with her, never once letting your dick free from her anus. Your heels bury into both her shoulders as she continues squatting up and down rapidly, fiercely fucking you from the amazon position. The cold-blooded, unrelenting stimulation gets too much for your dick to bare and it bursts beneath the pressure. The Spirit lets go of your ankles so your legs slip from their hug of her waist, allowing the entire cumshot you loaded into her rectum to come hailing right back down onto you like rainwater from a gutter, filthily splattering your entire upper body with heavy-knit batter, from your belly button to your hair. 

Before you can cry for help, she plugs two of her fingers in your mouth, making you suck on them for a while before she makes a flicking gesture with her other hand, telekinetically flipping the light-switch on. The instant bombardment of brightness from the ceiling fan vaporizes her body of shadow. The ensuing black cloud of haze is blown into your gaping mouth by the fan, poisoning your body with a demonic disease. She seizes control of your motor skills and clumsily maneuvers you to the kitchen. You have just enough lingering control to TRY to resist, but it's far from enough to able to usurp her influence. She forces your hand to fish around in the drawers and brandish a kitchen knife. 

You lumber back to the bathroom, get in the tub, and slit your wrists. A pain shoots up your bloodstream only for the sharp metal blade to cut it like a phone line. Your forearm gushes, oozes, and pours with blood as its inside is littered with half a dozen gashes. A twentieth of the tub is pooled with red, and your soul is torn away from your husk of a body as it soaks up a puddle of its own blood. Said soul is then mixed into the spirit realm like an ingredient getting stirred and twisted around in a bowl. The Spirit plucks you out from the endless ocean of wandering souls and makes you hers, forever damning you to sexual torture dimensions beyond this plane of existence.  



End file.
